‘It’s a filthy night. I cancelled it.’

‘But—’

‘Go get in the bath.’

Slvasta did as he was told. After all this time, with every second of their lives spent on some aspect of the revolution, to have a break for one night wasn’t something he was going to protest at. Since they moved in, he hadn’t had a bath more than three or four times; everything was showers and quick meals snatched between events.

Six big double-wick candles had been placed strategically round the blue and white tiled bathroom. Bethaneve must have used her teekay to turn off the brass taps just before he arrived, for the big iron rolltop bath was full of water that was almost too hot. The air was saturated with the orange blossom scent of bath salts. He stripped off his soggy clothes and climbed in. Eyes closed, he leaned back and let the water engulf him.

Some time later Bethaneve asked: ‘Is that better?’

He opened his eyes. Not asleep, just resting heavily. Her teekay was snuffing out the candles, leaving just two flickering. The shadows expanded, framing her in the topaz light of the doorway. She was wearing a strikingly erotic long black lace robe tied loosely round the waist.

‘Uh huh,’ he said with a throat that was suddenly dry.

She walked over slowly and knelt beside the bath. The front of the robe shifted to reveal the slope of her breasts as she bent over to kiss him. Strands of hair fell into the water.

‘You’re perfection,’ he said eventually.

There was just enough light to show the smile on her face. ‘Thank you.’ She picked up a tall bottle of liquid soap and poured some into her cupped hand. ‘Let me do this.’

‘You know you’re what makes all this possible,’ he said, then whimpered as she began rubbing the soap slowly across his shoulders.

‘That’s very sweet, but we both know you’re the one everybody admires. No one would vote for me, or even listen to me. You have a fire; you burn for justice. They all sense that. They sense how genuine you are.’

‘Just a pretty figurehead. You do all the work, you and Coulan and Javier.’

‘Don’t forget the others.’ More soap was tipped into her hand; she slid it down his sternum. ‘Andricea helps you a lot.’

Slvasta suppressed a smile. Bethaneve had never quite been comfortable around Andricea, with her long limbs and sunny smile and trim figure.

‘Are you thinking about her?’ Bethaneve’s hands had paused.

‘Not at all.’

‘Hmm.’ She sounded suspicious.

Slvasta curled his hand round the back of her head and pulled her down for another kiss. Finally, Bethaneve relented and her hands crept down his stomach. ‘Not at all,’ he promised sincerely.

‘Are you frightened?’ she murmured. ‘I am sometimes.’

‘Not of the Captain’s police, no. We’re too prominent now, and we have support from some sections of the establishment.’

‘I meant the election. It’s only a week away.’

‘Ten days.’

‘Suppose we don’t win?’

‘The polls are good, and Tuksbury is a fool. Really, I had no idea.’ He’d assumed that anyone who’d held on to a constituency seat for forty-eight years would know a thing or two about election campaigns. Not so Tuksbury. At first he’d simply sneered at Slvasta, assuming his own nomination as Citizens’ Dawn candidate was good enough to gain him a majority. Then six weeks ago, when he realized that his own party’s unenthusiastic support and lack of funds being thrown his way meant they’d abandoned him, he suddenly woke up to the very real prospect that he might lose his Council seat. By then Slvasta had already been campaigning for two months – not just in Varlan where the bulk of the voters lived, but visiting every town and village in the constituency, attending public meetings, setting out Democratic Unity’s policies, promising to sweep away the old restrictions and conventions that made society so hidebound. He’d surprised himself at how adept he’d become at handling people, providing smart answers, telling the right jokes, knowing when to listen with a serious face, producing promises that sounded firm. It seemed there was truth in the old adage that you can get used to anything if you do it long enough.

Tuksbury, however, had never really campaigned before, had never engaged with the people he was supposed to represent. So when he finally stood up in public to address people, it didn’t go well. He spent family money on lavish spreads of free food and drink, then lectured the people scoffing it down on why they should always vote for him because – ‘I come from good family stock, not like this common moron who was so useless in the Cham regiment that he lost an arm to Fallers.’ The two open debates with Slvasta which he agreed to also ended badly. The last one had to be halted early when the audience started throwing things at him and trying to make him tumble off the raised platform with their teekay.

The shock and dismay of discovering what people truly thought of him sent Tuksbury to seek solace in the bordellos he discreetly and regularly frequented, while inhaling more narnik than usual to dull the pain of his humiliation – facets of his personality that the pamphlets were eager to print, complete with details. His misery was compounded by the gazettes, which were normally so supportive of Citizens’ Dawn, beginning to report the same foibles as the pamphlets.

Tuksbury hadn’t appeared in public for the last four days. Cell members had reported him holed up in the Maiden’s Welcome, a high-class brothel on Mawney Street, leaving his dispirited and badly underfunded campaign staff to produce leaflets that nobody read. One cell member, a clerk in a solicitor’s office, reported that Tuksbury’s wife had already filed for divorce.

‘We will win,’ Slvasta said confidently. ‘Hilltop Eye has the tax returns for Tuksbury’s estate, hasn’t it?’

‘Delivered three days ago,’ she confirmed. ‘I got them the records for the last ten years. Uracus, those bastards have paid less than you and I did. Can you believe that? Hilltop Eye will print them four days before the election.’

‘So it would take a Faller egg landing on my head for us to lose now. I just have to keep showing my face and not saying anything too stupid – for which I have you to watch over me.’

Bethaneve’s expression was pure wickedness as her hands and teekay reached his groin. As always, he was helpless under her ministrations. She could make his body do whatever she wanted, and the intensity of the pleasure made him cry out, sending the bathwater sloshing across the floor.

Afterwards she made him stand next to the bath while she used a towel to dry him. Then he was taken to the bedroom.

‘Marry me,’ he said as he lay back on the sheets and watched her move round the room, first to her dresser to dab perfume on her neck, then lighting three candles. They were officially engaged, of course, but that was for the sake of the election. There was no wedding day named nor planned for.

‘You know my answer,’ she told him gently.

‘Yes,’ he said forlornly. ‘When we’ve won.’

She came over to the bed and stood there, hands on hips, looking down at him. ‘And you know why.’

‘Because nobody should bring children into a world as unjust as this one,’ he responded automatically.

‘After we’ve won,’ she said. ‘That’s the time to build for the future. Anything before that is just castles made of sand and promises.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘So if I don’t win, do we still arm the cells and march on the palace?’

‘No. That would be a complete disaster. We have to have popular support on our side, a clear mandate from the electorate. It must look as if we’re doing what the people want.’

‘Some of them, anyway.’

‘You’re having doubts?’ she asked. ‘Now?’

‘No. I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Poor you. It’s nearly over. We just need another few weeks, maybe months. That’s all. Can you last that long?’